


burning, drowning

by sinequanon



Series: Stiles & Mikaelsons [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Originals (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Empath Stiles Stilinski, Future Fic, Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 22:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12662778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: It takes Hope to bring Stiles and the Mikaelsons together for the (sort of) first time.(AU for both TW and The Originals)





	burning, drowning

**Author's Note:**

> This is an older fic, and I feel like it shows, but it’s not horrible or anything. Have fun!

Hope was vivacious, adorable, and surprisingly cheeky for an eight-year-old, and Stiles loved it whenever they were together. They would sit and watch cartoons in his room, or cook, or wander through the Preserve. Amidst all of the blood and guts and fighting of his everyday life, spending time with his niece--even if it was just in dreams--always made him feel better. Her emotions were as chaotic as any child’s might be, but they were tinged with an excitement that Stiles rarely felt at home, and they were contagious. Besides, it was much better dreaming with Hope than it was dreaming of his siblings.

A thousand years was a long time to build up resentment and do bad things, and Stiles had experienced more than his share of their misfortunes over his short lifetime. Hope’s miraculous birth had created a bright spot in an otherwise never-ending cycle of the “Malicious Mikaelson Misdeed Movies”, which seemed to play in stereo in his dreams at least once a week.

Of course, his _personal_ experiences with the supernatural showed up in his dreams even more often; all too many of those were unpleasant as well. With the alpha pack and the nogitsune and every other horrible thing that had happened in the last five years, the nightmares were both frequent and disturbing. Coupled with the ebb and pulse of everyone else's emotions against his brain--notwithstanding the emotional lightning strikes that were the Mikaelson’s emotions--it was a wonder he hadn't ended up in Eichen House long before the nogitsune happened. Unfortunately, with so much going on, it was only after leaving for college and finally having a little breathing room from Beacon Hills that Stiles really started thinking about his childhood dreams as something more than just incredibly graphic reoccurring nightmares.

Stiles had never considered the possibility that his dreams were anything more than the product of an overactive imagination before Scott became a werewolf. Astral projection was one thing, but time-travel projection seemed ludicrous, even to him. Even after the werewolf drama, vampires hadn't really been on Stiles's radar until he and Scott came across one sitting in front of them in their anthropology class their freshman year in college. That in itself wouldn't have been an issue, either, except that Stiles heard the girl mention the name Rebekah Mikaelson, and everything in him screeched to a halt.

Stiles forced himself to swallow his panic. Mikaelson was probably a common last name, he told himself. But, one vampire saying the name of another vampire that Stiles had dreamed of dozens of times over the years? Probably not a coincidence, but Stiles wasn't sure what to do with the information, and he could tell that Scott wasn't either.

Telling the rest of the pack wasn't an option, because no matter that things had been calm for a while now, as soon as he and Scott mentioned weird dreams and vampires everything would be a flurry of research and training and the Hales would start brooding and the Argents would sharpen their weapons and...there was no sense in borrowing trouble. The vampire girl hadn't even been talking to them, anyway. Hadn't even looked in their direction.

So Scott and Stiles didn't do anything.

And then Hope showed up looking for Stiles.

<> <>

For some unexplained reason that Stiles had yet to figure out (especially considering the size of the rebuilt Hale house), the pack Christmas celebration was happening at the Stilinski house this year. Erica claimed that everyone liked Stiles's house best (which Stiles was pretty sure was a lie), but he hadn't had the heart to test the theory under the combined pathetic looks of Scott, Kira, and Isaac.

Dinner had been great, and everyone was in the middle of ripping open their presents when there was a knock at the door. Stiles opened the door to wish Mrs. Newman, his neighbor (who always brought over Christmas cookies) a happy holiday, only to stare in shock at his actual visitor.

An angelic-looking eight-year-old dressed in jeans and a hoodie stared back at him.

“Uncle Stiles,” she cried, throwing herself in his arms. “Merry Christmas!”

Seconds passed before Stiles could reboot his brain and hug her back, if only because Stiles had never let himself consider ever meeting her face-to-face. “Hope? What are you doing here?”

Hope grinned. “Daddy and the whole house were being dumb about Christmas, so I thought that I'd come see you instead. We can celebrate together. Is your dad here? Can I meet the pack? Can we go to the station? I want to see the Hale house. I bet it's pretty. Do you think Lydia will take me shopping so I can get you a present? What do--” she broke off as she noticed the crowded room.

Stiles thought furiously about what to tell his friends as the pack and Hope stared at each other: Hope, with excitement; and the pack, with mixed levels of curiosity, surprise, and apprehension.

The Sheriff and Scott were the only two who knew about Stiles's dreams, and Scott was the only one who knew that Stiles still dreamed about “the monsters” of his childhood. The Sheriff thought that they had ended years earlier when Stiles had stopped talking about them (which Stiles was more than willing to let him believe), so Scott was the only one who knew about Hope and who she potentially was to Stiles.

(After the first time Hope had called him uncle, Stiles had forced himself to stay up for thirty-eight hours straight. Around hour thirty-two, Stiles had paused their video game marathon and told Scott everything.)

“I guess we know for sure now, huh?” Scott commented lightly, looking between Stiles and Hope. Stiles glared at him, even as Hope sent him a blinding smile.

“Stiles,” Erica asked slowly, “when did you become an uncle?”

“Eight years ago, duh,” Hope answered for Stiles. She looked around until she spotted Derek. “Are you the alpha?”

“Stiles?” Derek, and everyone but Scott, really, looked confused, and Stiles grabbed Hope’s hand before she tried to pat one of them on the head like a puppy.

She stuck out her other hand for Derek to shake, and smirked when he gingerly took it. “My name is Hope Mikaelson and I'd like to be an ally of your pack. I know I'm young, but I'm powerful, and I want to get to know you and help keep Uncle Stiles safe, so…”

“Wait, Mikaelson?” Lydia asked incredulously, and Stiles winced. “As in the Original family? What does that have to do with you, Stiles?”

Hope moved to squeeze his hand in encouragement, and he shot her a wan smile. Stiles had never shared his the details of his nightmares with his niece, but she was smart enough to know that vampires tended to not be nice people,si she had to know that his nighttime hours were usually less than pleasant.

“I've had dreams,” Stiles began tentatively, “ever since I was four, of people I didn't know. Not just the Mikaelsons, but mostly them. They did a lot of...terrible things. I got a lot of headaches before I learned to block their emotions. I thought that they were just nightmares for a very long time—“

“You dreamed about the Original family?” Lydia interjected. “Why?”

“—and after Scott became a werewolf, those dreams took a backseat to other things,” Stiles finished, ignoring the interruption entirely.

“Except for me,” Hope piped up helpfully, stuffing one of Boyd’s sugar cookies into her mouth. “I see Uncle Stiles all the time in dreams. We do lots of fun things together. It's why he's my favorite.” She dropped her voice into a faux whisper. “Don't tell Aunt Bekah, though.”

Erica was already shaking her head. “He can't be your uncle, sweetheart.”

Hope frowned at her and chomped enthusiastically into another cookie. “Sure he can. He used to be my Uncle Henrik, but now he's my Uncle Stiles.”

Thankfully, heads turned to Lydia for the explanation instead of Stiles. “Henrik Mikaelson was mauled to death by werewolves a thousand years ago, before the Mikaelsons became vampires.”

“So, what,” Isaac piped in from his corner of the room, “you think that Stiles is the reincarnation of your dead uncle?”

“I don’t think, I know,” she said brightly. “He's going to come home with me and make our family happy again.”

Stiles nearly choked on his hot chocolate.

<> <>

Lydia did, in fact, take Hope shopping, ostensibly under the guise of buying Stiles a late Christmas present, but mostly to give the ladies of the pack a chance to spoil the girl. Also, Stiles suspected, to get her clothing other than hoodies and jeans.

(“At least there's no flannel,” Erica had sighed.)

After the initial hesitation, everyone had warmed up to Hope. The past two days had been a flurry of pack outings, with movies and cake and paintball. The boys of the pack treated her like a beloved little sister, and the girls kept pushing Stiles and Hope together “for bonding purposes” before pulling Hope away for girl talk.

The Sheriff--although he was upset to find out that Stiles's childhood nightmares had _not_ gone away--was thrilled to meet Hope and remarkably accepting of them harboring a child runaway. (On the plus side, Hope had already declared herself the “Produce Police” and monitoring his dad’s diet almost as well as him.)

Stiles, however, was stuck trying to figure out how to get his niece home without losing his head or other important body parts. Hope's answer for how she had gotten to Beacon Hills had been “magic”, but she refused to go home again without Stiles. She also refused to call her parents or contact the rest of her family in any way.

Stiles wished he could be concerned with the legal ramifications of not returning Hope to her parents, but frankly, he figured it was much more likely for them to rip out his jugular instead of suing him. So, his concerns were more serious than most.

It had been less than forty-eight hours since Hope had shown up at his door, and Stiles was already afraid to sleep. Hope wanted to stay the week and spend time with all of the members of the pack, but Stiles knew that Niklaus and the others had to have noticed that Hope was missing, and they definitely wouldn't just sit around and wait for her to come home on her own.

Stiles's mind jumped through so many ways he had seen the Mikaelsons torture someone over the years, he barely noticed when he hit the back of the sofa. His fingers scrambled for purchase, but he was too far into his panic to really feel it.

_What if he got the pack killed? What if they hated him for bringing the Original family into their lives? What if the Mikaelsons hated Stiles? What if they thought he’d kidnapped Hope? What if--_

“Breathe, Stiles. You have to breathe.”

He could barely hear a voice speaking to him, couldn't figure out who it was; but he felt a thumping underneath his hand, could feel the softness of someone's shirt, and tried to focus on that instead of his panic.

“Come on, Stiles. Just like me. In. Out.” The figure breathed deeply, slowly encouraging Stiles to follow him.

Stiles squinted as the blurry figure of his best friend came into focus. “Scott?”

“Hey, man.” Scott readjusted both of them until they were on the sofa, Stiles leaning against his friend. “I know that you're worried about everything, but it's going to be fine.”

“The pack--”

“Didn't need to know. Your family is your business.”

“Until they start biting people.” Stiles said glumly.

Scott didn't actually think that was going to happen, but he knew better than to mention it so soon after an attack. Instead, he grinned. “Well, if they want to bite Jackson…”

“Hey!” Jackson’s offended voice came from behind Stiles as he moved upstairs, and Stiles realized that he and Isaac must have come in while he was having his panic attack. His face probably would have been red with embarrassment if he hadn't been so tired.

“I agree,” Isaac said, settling on the other side of Stiles. “If we have to sacrifice someone to the Originals, we’ll just shove Jackson at them and make a run for it.”

Stiles shot him a grateful smile and let his eyes slip shut. He was asleep before Jackson’s disgruntled reply came down the stairs.

<> <>

Stiles opened his eyes again to the sound of pots clanging in the kitchen. At some point, Scott had replaced himself with an actual pillow and someone had thrown a blanket over them. From the amount of noise, Stiles guessed that the majority of the pack was involved in cooking or setting the table. Derek, however, was reading in the recliner and looked up when he felt Stiles watching him.

“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes, if you feel up to it.”

Stiles nodded. The first few times someone from the pack had seen him have a panic attack, they had had tried to smother him with affection afterward--touches, questions, treats--before Stiles had convinced them that all he really wanted, especially after the fact, was normalcy.

Derek was absolutely the best at giving Stiles what he needed, next to Scott. The others couldn't hide their nerves well enough.

He was about to stand up when a body plopped itself on top of him. “Uncle Stiles!” Hope said brightly. “Guess what? I made dinner!” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Isaac and Kira helped. Not Jackson, though. Lydia says that Jackson could burn water. How would that work? Maybe if Jackson was a witch,” she mumbled thoughtfully, “but Jackson is a werewolf, not a witch. I'll have to ask Aunt Freya about it when I get home.”

Stiles's smile froze on his face as he recalled what had set him off in the first place. “Hope, your parents are probably going crazy looking for you.”

“Don't worry, Uncle Stiles. They don't even know that I'm gone.” At his confused frown, she assured, “I left a poppet. Uncle Kol helped me make it. It acts just like me. They’ll never know the difference.”

“Does Kol know where you are?”

“Nuh uh,” she shook her head. “We made it as a distraction, in case bad people ever tried to take me. I used it so that I could come see you.”

“I’m glad that you did,” he admitted, guiding them towards the table, “but we need to get you home soon.”

“I know,” the girl grumbled, “but I can come back, right?”

“Of course, you're pack, remember?” Derek reminded her with a smile. “You’ll have to eat your vegetables at dinner, though.”

<> <>

Hope cleverly managed to wrangle another day of “pack activities” out of Stiles before he put his foot down and started planning the trip to New Orleans, although that might have had as much to do with how little Stiles wanted to go to New Orleans as it did how much Hope wanted to stay in Beacon Hills.

At Hope’s request, everyone stayed the night before at the new Hale house, watching movies and eating popcorn until the early hours of the morning. There were copious amounts of hugs, kisses, back pats, and shoulder squeezes, and Stiles was sure he had even heard Jackson sniffle at one point, but it was still a good evening. When everyone except for Stiles and Boyd had fallen asleep, Stiles quietly told the other boy his concerns about the trip to Louisiana.

Stiles suspected there was an ulterior motive behind Hope’s timing, but he was willing (to an extent) to follow her lead. The two of them were supposedly driving straight through to New Orleans, but Stiles had heard more than one hushed conversation between Hope and different members of the pack, and he had a feeling more than one detour was in his future.

Boyd assured him in his quiet, thoughtful way that everything would work out. And, if any vampires happened to hurt him; well, Boyd had already started carving stakes in his spare time.

<> <>

Stiles and Hope had barely crossed the border into Nevada when his niece made her first request. Honestly, Stiles was surprised she had lasted that long.

“Let's do something fun. There has to be something fun to do in Nevada.” She wiggled around in her seat until she could stick her feet out the jeep’s window.

“We're not on vacation.”

She grinned at him. “Yes, we are, and since Daddy is probably never going to let me out of his sight again, we should have as much fun as possible, right?” She tried to punch him, but it was too awkward in her position so she mostly waved her fist in the air. “Please, Uncle Stiles?”

“How are we going to pay for all this fun you want to have?”

“I have one of Daddy's credit cards,” the girl announced sheepishly.

“Of course you do.” Hope fake pouted at him, and Stiles sighed before giving in. “How do you feel about caves?”

A side trip to Great Basin National Park somehow turned into Hope talking him into going to Las Vegas for a couple of days. Then, they ended up in the Grand Canyon, compelling themselves a ride on one of the rafting trips. New Mexico turned into an attempt to eat in as many Mexican restaurants as possible, and in Texas, they bought cowboy hats and tried to solve the mystery of the Kennedy assassination.

When they made it to Louisiana, Stiles started getting apprehensive about their impending arrival.

<> <>

They were both nervous heading into Louisiana, Stiles knew, because Hope suddenly got a lot more fidgety and conversation dwindled down to almost nothing. “So, are you going to tell me exactly what kind of mess I'm walking into?”

“Everyone is fighting. Everyone is trying to kill someone else and no one was celebrating Christmas. I don't get to go to regular school, I don't have normal friends.” She twisted the straw in her shake and gave her uncle a grateful smile. You make me feel important. And safe.”

“My pack isn't exactly normal,” Stiles reminded her.

“But you guys act normal, like a real family. And even when you argue, you don't really try to hurt each other.” She frowned down at her fries.

“What do you expect me to do, Hope?”

“Everything changed with Henrik, right? You can make it better.”

Stiles barely stopped himself from cringing. There was no way he could solve a thousand years worth of problems in a few days, even if he wanted to. “I'm not Henrik,” he reminded her gently.

“A part of you is.”

He couldn't hold back the sigh. “I'll try to help, but, you know I have to go back to school soon, right? I can't stay.”

His niece was quiet for the rest of the drive.

(It didn’t stop her swirling mass of _optimismconcernresolve_ from hitting him, though.)

<> <>

When Hope had mentioned that everyone was trying to kill each other, Stiles hadn't realized the literal truth of her statement. Stiles could practically see the the magic surrounding the city as they crossed the city limits, and he lifted an eyebrow in question at her.

“A couple of years ago, the witches went to war with the vampires. The werewolves were playing both sides and tried to betray everyone. It was really bad and lots of people were killed. Now, most humans don't come out after dark around here,” she explained sheepishly.

But _he_ was going to do it. Great. He knew he should have made out his will.

<> <>

Stiles had to hand it to Hope--she sure knew how to make a dramatic entrance. Stiles himself was a fan of the “rip the band-aid off” method of information-giving, so he could appreciate the forthrightness, even if it was probably going to get him killed.

The two of them had stopped for one last set of burgers and milkshakes a little earlier, so walking into what amounted to a formal dining room in a classy mansion was a bit of a culture shock for Stiles. Being in a room with a group of dangerous supernatural types with poor impulse control wasn't exactly comforting, either.

(Especially when they were all staring at him.)

“Well, this isn't awkward at all,” he said to the room-at-large, because no one could power through weird moments like Stiles. He glanced at Kol, who kept looking from the fake, to Hope, and back again. “Also, I feel compelled to say that you do very good work, and,” he pointed to the poppet, “that's really creepy.”

Hope smirked at Stiles and snapped her fingers, and the doll went limp in the chair.

“Still creepy,” he reminded her.

Niklaus Mikaelson looked from the doll, to his daughter, to the stranger who was with her before sighing the sigh of a parent who has been tricked too many times to get truly angry about it. He turned back to his daughter, essentially dismissing the man who was with her for the moment. In fact, the Mikaelsons hardly paid any attention to Stiles at all, homing in on Hope and repeatedly questioning her well-being and how she had managed to fool them.

Hope put up with the smothering for all of five minutes before she glared at her family. “I wouldn't have left,” she said archly, “if you guys ever stopped fighting. That's why I brought Uncle Stiles.”

“Uncle Stiles?” Niklaus smirked, obviously unimpressed. “Does your mother have a brother we don't know about?”

“Hope--” Stiles warned, chiming in from his place in the corner and pointedly ignoring the considering look in Kol’s eyes.

“Nope,” the girl argued. “I'm telling them. You can stick your fingers in your ears, if you want.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but took a couple more steps away from everyone, just in case. _Why did everyone think it was cool that Hope was so much like him, again_?

“So, I went to California for Christmas and spent time with Uncle Stiles's pack,” she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the rest of the Mikaelsons, “because I wanted to meet them and I wanted to ask Uncle Stiles for help and because I want everyone to be happy again.”

“That doesn't explain how you know this man,” Elijah said lightly. He was watching Stiles with a look that he had seen his brother make right before he “disposed of” a problem, and the younger man fought the urge to back up another step.

“I dream with him, silly,” she declared, ignoring the raised eyebrows around her. She paused. “That's how I knew he needed help. You need help, too, though, so it will be fine. You can help each other.”

There were a few moments of silence while the Mikaelsons stared skeptically at Stiles, and Stiles did his best to brace himself, and then:

“Henrik?”

Kol's voice was soft, like he thought Stiles would bolt given half the chance. It didn't exactly help that Stiles could feel the anger growing throughout the room, particularly from Klaus. Kol took a halting step forward, then froze when Stiles flinched. “Little brother?”

Stiles watched as his once-siblings’ faces went through a gamut of emotions before most everyone settled into a heady combination of shock and cautious optimism.

Stiles pushed aside the _concernconfusionhope_ Kol was sending in his direction to explain. “I've known Hope for years, ever since she figured out how to reach out to me; but it wasn't until a couple of years ago that she started calling me uncle,” he said slowly, as if testing out the words. Despite what he’d told Hope, he wasn't sure that he could do this. His heart was pounding in his chest, and the emotions of the group around him were beating against his already battered mental shields. “She refused to come back here without me, so I told her I'd stay for a couple of days.”

Freya and Rebekah both gasped before Rebekah recovered and shot him a hopeful look. His sisters evidently were worried about him possibly running as well, because neither moved any closer. “You can stay longer than that, if you’d like.”

“Why didn't you look for us?” Kol asked.

“What was the point? That was a long time ago, and I have my own life now. No offense, but humans don't usually fare too well in your company.”

Rebekah inched forward, and Stiles wasn't sure whether to be offended by or grateful for the caution. “If Hope hadn't come to you, would you have ever come to us?”

“No, I don't think so,” he answered honestly.

“All that matters is that he is here now,” Elijah pointed out, and Hope grinned. Things were getting better already.

<> <>

With the exception of Niklaus (and Hayley, who had shown up a few hours after Stiles and Hope had arrived), everyone was being remarkably conciliatory and pleasant, and it was freaking Stiles out.

The past three days had been a whirlwind of experiences with Hope dragging him around New Orleans and introducing him to people, and though none of the Mikaelsons save Hope had tried to touch him, one of them was always just down the hall or lurking around the corner, unconsciously shoving their emotions in his direction.

After Hope had dropped the “Henrik” bombshell, the Mikaelsons had practically ripped the head off of anyone who so much as sneezed in his direction. It should have been nice, but it left him in such a state of hypervigilance that Stiles could feel the emotional pressure in the back of his brain that signaled a blackout in his near future.

Klaus was only making it worse, following him around like he expected Stiles to turn on him at any moment. Stiles wanted to help Hope, to make her happy, but he couldn't do that if the hybrid kept being a jackass.

So, after a day of being introduced to what Stiles assumed was every vampire that Hope had ever known, he went to confront Klaus, who was sulking in the library.

“Look, I understand that your life hasn't exactly been sunshine and rainbows, but--”

“You know nothing of us except rumors and lies,” Klaus spat at him. “I am no angel, but everything I have done was to protect my family.”

“Really?” Stiles asked incredulously. “Because my memories would suggest otherwise.”

The hybrid turned to him with a snarl. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but sat down with a sigh when Freya entered the room. Henrik had never known Freya so Stiles had never dreamed of her, but he felt like she could understand him better than most. “I’m not a vampire, or a werewolf, or a super-powerful witch, but I'm not exactly normal, either. I wouldn't exactly call it an ability since it only works with this family, but I've been dreaming of the Mikaelsons ever since I was a child.”

“What have you seen?” Freya asked gently as she took his hand in hers.

“He's seen nothing. I don't know what spell he cast on my daughter--”

“I'm not a witch!”

“You're a child, dealing with things you don't understand,” Klaus raged. “You should be grateful that I have allowed you to stay here as long as I have.”

“Niklaus--” Freya began, but Stiles was already speaking.

“You want gratitude? _Thank you_ for a spectacularly traumatizing childhood,” he growled in a way that gave both his siblings pause. “I'm sure every mother _longs_ for the day when her six-year-old asks her what the word ‘exsanguinate’ means. You were the star of dozens of horrifically graphic nightmares throughout my childhood.” He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, his gaze hardened. “You know, I didn't even realize that you were truly real until Hope started visiting when I was eighteen. I thought you were just spillover from all of the emotions I was picking up.”

For the first time, Niklaus actually looked concerned. “Henrik, please--”

“My name is Stiles,” he snarled. “You ask me why I can't just play nice? Be grateful, keep quiet? Because being with you makes me feel like my head is going to explode. Almost every dream I have, of any of you, is filled with blood and screaming, and I can feel the rage and fear and sadness, and it chokes me. Even if I wanted to stay here, your emotions would either kill me or drive me crazy, and this place definitely doesn't need any more crazy. Why exactly would I want to be a part of this family, anyway? From what I can tell, you spend most of your time stabbing each other in the back, sometimes literally.”

“Perhaps that's just how we interact with each other,” the hybrid offered, but the argument fell flat.

“That's sad. You’d think that over a thousand years, at least one of you would have grown up. Elijah at least looks the part.”

“Stiles, please give us a chance,” Freya cajoled softly, sliding her hand into his once more.

“To do what, exactly?” he grumbled. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to walk away. Then he thought about Derek's family and the rest of the pack, and how many of them came from broken homes, and he hesitated.

“You haven't told Hope about what you’ve seen?”

“Of course not. She's eight. Although, I'm pretty sure she already knows because she came to California to find me because she said everyone here was too busy trying to kill each other to celebrate Christmas.”

Niklaus growled again and shifted closer to Stiles, who flinched.

Freya was the one to put the pieces together. “You're an empath.”

Stiles wanted to roll his eyes, but that would actually hurt at the moment, so he settled for glaring at Freya instead. “Yeah,” he said drolly, “which is just super fun when dealing with vampires and other supernatural hotheads.”

(Because despite what popular culture might espouse, that vampires and other “undead” things didn't register for people like telepaths and empaths, there was a reason that the two groups avoided things like vampires. For empaths, it was to avoid drowning in the tidal wave of feeling that vampires, with their heightened emotions, put out.)

Looking back on it, he couldn't believe it had taken him so long to figure it out about the Mikaelsons, but in his defense, he was a master of pushing aside non-essential problems until they were no longer ignorable. Things like the all-too-real alpha pack trumped dream vampires every time.

(He supposed the healthy dose of willful ignorance that he’d held right up until Hope showed up at his door didn't help matters, either.)

Of course, that just meant that right now he couldn't defend against the massive tsunami of conflicting emotions that were pouring of Klaus, and he barely heard his siblings call his name before the tide pulled him under.

<> <>

Stiles woke to Elijah's worried face looking down at him. To the vampire’s credit, he didn't touch Stiles or try to talk to him while the younger man pulled himself back together.

“No offense,” Stiles said when the world had stopped spinning, “but why are you here?” He assumed that after passing out on them, they would have been eager to see him on his way; it had taken forever to train the wolves to be normal around him after they found out.

The vampire gave him a tiny smile. “According to Freya, I'm the most emotionally neutral of us, and we didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Stiles snorted, thinking of quite a few less than neutral interactions the vampire had been involved in over the years. The fact that Freya was still probably correct in her assertion didn't make Stiles feel any better.

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes before a blank-faced Elijah asked, “Do you really want nothing to do with us?”

Stiles sighed heavily. “Look, it's just...I don't know. My life is pretty good at the moment, and...you wouldn't understand.”

“Explain it to me, then.”

So Stiles did. He wasn’t sure why, but he told Elijah about the nightmares, and about the emotions, about Hope, and Scott becoming a werewolf and everything that happened after that. He told him about how the pack had finally started relaxing and settling into their own skins, and how things were better than they had been in a long time.

“It's ironic that most of your friends are werewolves,” Elijah offered carefully, after Stiles had finished speaking.

“I don't remember it, you know. Being Henrik. If that's what you guys want--”

Elijah covered Stiles's hands with his own. “I simply meant that werewolves are not looked upon highly in New Orleans at the moment. It is natural for you to be wary, and to hesitate to risk your happiness on such a volatile family. You will be leaving soon, but I hope that you will allow us to keep in touch?”

Stiles gave a hesitant nod, and Elijah smiled. “Good. I think Hope wants to take you around town again, if you feel up to it. She also said something about cookies?”

<> <>

Two days later, after one more round of “fun things” with Hope and a couple of uncomfortable conversations with his siblings, Stiles headed back to school. Two days after that, the deluge began. Stiles started hearing from the Mikaelsons with remarkable regularity: phone calls, postcards, random gift baskets. Three times during the semester, Stiles caught anonymous vampires “keeping an eye on him” on behalf of Klaus or Kol, and he was pretty sure there were others that he hadn't noticed. Freya put him in touch with a witch to help him control his dreaming and Finn kept sending him the contact information for various empaths.

The pack took the Original family's aggressive quasi-courtship of Stiles as an excuse to be just as free with their affection, which somehow led to Erica and Rebekah teaming up to terrorize ex-boyfriends on his behalf, and with Lydia periodically sending care packages to Hope.

By the time Christmas vacation rolled around the next year, Hope wasn't the only Mikaelson going to the Stilinski house for the holidays.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the poem “If I Could Write Words” by Spike Milligan:
> 
> If I could write words  
> Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,  
> What a bonfire my letters would make.
> 
> If I could speak words of water,  
> You would drown when I said  
> "I love you."  
>   
> (To those who left me comments last week, thank you; I’m sorry I haven’t responded yet, but it will happen in the next day or so.)
> 
> Next week: One of the shorter Stiles/Mikaelson stories, and some other stuff TBD.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
